


The Weaver and the Broideress

by Lingwiloke



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Ficlet, Friendship, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Tolkien Secret Santa 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8982475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingwiloke/pseuds/Lingwiloke
Summary: Vairë's thoughts on a certain resident of the Halls of Mandos.
(Written for the Tolkien Secret Santa 2016 on tumblr)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artanisnerwen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=artanisnerwen).



> This ficlet goes with the version (well, versions, really) of the story of Finwë and Míriel as found in HoME 10, in which she eventually enters the service of Vairë.

The Undying Lands, they call these shores.

And yet, I remember well the first time Death found its way into the Blessed Realm. I remember, as I must remember, for it is my task to bear witness to all that there is through the weave of my work. And thus I transform memory into history, what-is into what-was.

There is a certain beauty to the image: You, as if sleeping, on a bed of white flowers, your hair fanning out around your head and surrounding your fair face like a silver halo. And as you slept, your _fëa_ stole away, soundlessly and painlessly, to the Halls of Mandos.

Why did you go?

A challenge you could not withstand, they say.

Why did you stay, when you were offered rebirth?

Cowardice, some call it. A taint of the Shadow, of Arda Marred, a weakness of the _fëa_ , a little of it all-

To me, it matters not.

I hear your soft song weave through the halls; see your fingers dance in rhythm as you work and threads form into history on the cloth. I see the smile that lights up your face as I enter. I feel the warm light of your _fëa_ close to my being as I guide you in a new technique; hear the pride in your voice when you present your latest work to me.

And I am glad.

 

(But still, I must wonder – are you truly glad, too?)


End file.
